


Grace

by Meloncholor



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 18:22:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20139928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meloncholor/pseuds/Meloncholor
Summary: Trevor saves you from a witch-burning and you are left with the aftermath of what you've seen.





	Grace

“Sleep, your grace.” He stands in the archway, holding your vigil, but the circumstances make you unable to even lie down. You feel out of place and alienated. The maids always had made your bed and cleaned the sheets and set out perfumed candles so that you could fall asleep without any resistance. The ground was cold, and the sweat on your body made the execution gown stick to your skin in patches. Dirt was caked up and down your legs, and your hair was a matted, sweaty mess. Not to mention the singed smell of your clothes and hair. You didn’t feel safe here, this building wasn’t very far from the town square, where you were sure the witch-burning fire still raged. Every few minutes you could hear some commotion outside the window above, yelling and arguing couple with the heavy footfalls of men in armor. They were looking for you. And that knowledge scares you. You could still feel the heat lashing at your feet and ankles, the pain as the fire crawled up your legs. The people who watched with morbid glee as you screamed and pulled at the binds. Bishop Langren staring deep into your eyes...You shook the thought away.

“I don’t want to sleep.” You whisper, your voice cracked and dry. It was foreign even to your own ears. You scratched at your skin to no avail, the dirt beneath your fingernails everpresent. Was mother thinking about you? Would she be sitting at her table in the solar weeping for you? You wish you could have one of your custards, with the cream and piles of sugar on top, or your nightdress with the silver embroidery. You want to cry, beat your hands on the dirty wooden floor and protest. But to what end? What would even happen if you did? Father looked so terrified when the clergymen came… 

“I don’t  _ care _ if you don’t want to sleep. You need to sleep. Now, preferably.” He didn’t turn around to meet the anger in your eyes or was it the desperation? You weren’t sure, to be honest. He kept looking around the corner every time he heard a noise. You were scared and hungry and hurting, and every single bone in your body ached. You couldn’t help it anymore, tears fell hot and heavy on your cheeks. You sob and the scratchiness of your throat catches it causing you even more pain. You slump against the far wall and let the sadness overtake you, clutching your knees to your chest and let your cries fall silent in your throat.

Trevor sighs, he couldn’t just leave you there like that. He looks out into the hallway, and checks for any strange noises then looks back to you. It takes a moment to steel himself, but he turns around and walks over to you. You don’t notice through your own crying until he rests his hands on your shoulders. You look up, bleary. His face is barely inches away from yours.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t go back to your family, or your home. I’m so very sorry.” His face is painted with genuine remorse, and once again you can’t help yourself. You jump forward and hook your arms around his neck, sobbing into the crook of his shoulder. “We need to be gone by morning…” He grumbles, but you break out into another sob and tighten your grip on his cloak.

He freezes for a moment, but the tension begins to melt when you feel his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you tighter into the hug. “I know, I’m sorry...I’m so sorry.” It’s awkward, and the position is strange but he’s so warm and his coat smells like rain and wood and a bit like booze, but it comforts you as you let out your sorrows into the old furs. He rubs your back in small circles, pulling you more so that you were in his lap rather than looped around his neck.

You don’t know how long you cried, but your voice was so hoarse and aching that you didn’t want to protest when you feel him move again so that he was the one pressed up against the wall. You were exhausted, and he lifted you with such ease that it almost felt natural for him to do so. You feel more warmth when he pulls around his cloak to cover you and you finally, are able to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> A short piece I wrote for a warmup. Leave a comment if you like, if you don't, or if you just want to call me a fake gamer girl.


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